


Trapped In By All These Mountains

by brightlightbaby



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Art School Gerard Way, Artist Gerard Way, College Student Gerard Way, Fluff, M/M, Making Out, Meet-Cute, One Shot, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22399246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightlightbaby/pseuds/brightlightbaby
Summary: “I’ve got to tell you, I don’t usually do this much physical labor for a dude I just met.”“Really? I thought a tough guy like you would be out tarring roofs and mowing lawns for all the guys.”“No, just for the pretty ones. Or the ones who pay me enough.”
Relationships: Frank Iero & Gerard Way, Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 18
Kudos: 186





	1. Meet Ugly

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy! This is one of my first fics, so I’m sorry for any errors or mistakes. 
> 
> XX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This started as a one shot, I have no clue what happened
> 
> DISCLAIMER; I am not an artist. I googled painting terms, if you see anything that needs correcting then let me know!

Everything goes to shit that Tuesday morning. Gerard’s holed in his apartment, painting for all he’s worth when he realizes he’s run out of half of his supplies. And as much as he hates interrupting his commissions, he hates not having paint more. 

He throws on some decently clean clothes and drives over to the nearest art store. He’s been shopping at Bellville Art Supplies for a few months now, ever since the old art supply shop on his corner shut down. It’s rare that he actually buys anything. He mostly just fantasizes about the canvases he’d buy if he had more money. 

The bell jingles when he trudges into the blasting heat of the shop, scarf wrapped tightly around his throat. The store is a deserted wasteland, easy listening jazz bellowing through the speakers. The whole place is decked out in Christmas cartoons and peeling snowflake decals. 

One employee’s reading Wired behind the front desk, propping his tattered Doc Martens up on the counter. He’s always sitting there reading or listening to music when Gerard decides to pop in. Gerard has resolved to call him ‘Punk Guy’ since he never wears a name tag.

Gerard immediately scurries to the privacy of the back shelves. It’s like a refuge from the rest of the store. While he’s in the back, perusing a shelf full of acrylics, he spots a ladder. He decides it’s better to be safe than sorry. He doesn’t want to miss anything he might need on the top shelves.

As he suspected, all of the good paint was at the bottom. There’s nothing up here but industrial dispensers. He wonders how much it would cost to just buy a dispenser. He’s so sick of hauling bag after bag of paints up to his apartment. Especially since he busted his ass on the ice covered stairs coming in with the groceries. Mikey laughed so hard at him that he cried. 

Gerard stretches and brushes his fingertips against one of the bins. Without warning, the ladder groans and begins to tip under his weight. It finally buckles and topples backwards. 

He flies back with an ear splitting scream and slams to the floor. The ladder bangs down next to him. Buckets of paint crash down around him, shooting off in all directions. The rectangular chest full of paint cans falls directly onto his legs, trapping him against the cold linoleum. 

He sits dumbstruck in the ringing silence, trying to collect himself and slow his heart rate. A jazzy trumpet solo blasts from the speakers, and it’s definitely not helping his nerves. 

Moments later, he hears sneakers squeaking frantically against the tiles behind him. A shadow blocks the fluorescent light pouring from the ceiling over his head. 

“Holy shit, are you okay?” 

Punk Guy from the counter is peering down at him, horrified. He’s actually dropped his magazine for once, and Gerard realizes he’s never seen him standing up before. He’s a lot shorter than he expected, and his hair flops in his face in a way that’s sort of cute. It makes him a little less intimidating. 

“I think so?”

Gerard scratches his head and checks his body for cuts or paint stains. Everything seems to be intact but his dignity. 

“What happened?” 

Punk Guy chews anxiously on his lip when he takes in the scene. Not a lot of paint has spilled, luckily. Only a few of the smaller tubes cracked. 

“I... I fell.” Gerard blinks sweat out of his eyes, unsettled. “I was trying to get some paint and the ladder tipped.”

“Oh.”

Punk Guy furrows his brow, kneeling down to gather some of the paint tubes in his shirt. Gerard helps him, still stammering out apologies over some jazz singer warbling along to an orchestra.  
Then Punk Guy whips his head around and catches sight of the overturned ladder. 

“Wait, were you on the employee ladder?” 

Way to put the pieces together, Gerard thinks. Then he feels kind of guilty because, really, Punk Guy’s just doing his job. 

“I... maybe.” Gerard avoids his gaze stubbornly, cheeks burning. “That’s not important.” 

He thought that he’d be competent enough to use the ladder without making a big fuss. The universe, however, seemed to have its own plans that involved making his life a living hell. 

“Oh my god. Seriously?” 

Punk Guy pulls a face, and Gerard feels white hot shame rush through his chest. 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know that my body was going to betray me!” 

He scowls down at his stomach. The one morning he decided to put cream cheese on his bagel. 

“You fell off of a ladder with railings? Are you 90 years old?” Punk Guy smiles dryly, standing to toss the tubes of paint into their container. 

He’d have a nice smile if he weren’t being a dick, Gerard thinks. Then again, Punk Guy kind of has every right to be making fun of him. 

“No! I’m just... uncoordinated.” Gerard sighs, waving a hand at his legs. “Have some mercy, I nearly died.”

He’s not claustrophobic or anything, but there’s something very panic-inducing about the gigantic box crushing his legs. Well, that or the fact that a hot guy has to rescue him from himself. Mikey would be in hysterics if he could see him now.  
Punk Guy seems like he’s torn between aggravation and amusement.

“I don’t know about dying. I also don’t know a lot of sober twenty-somethings that could knock over an entire shelf of paint tubs.” 

“Well then, consider me a special case.” Gerard gripes, not even bothering to mask his scowl. “Can you get me out of here?” 

It’s very difficult to move with the gallon buckets of Pthalo Blue crushing his legs. He’s positive they’re going to be sore and bruised for the rest of the week. Maybe even the month. 

“Yeah, give me a minute.” Punk Guy tugs at the handle of one of the gallons and manages to scoot it away from Gerard’s legs. 

He squats and wipes the sweat from his brow as he drags another bucket of paint towards the shelves. He’s absurdly cute, with the lip ring and the eyeliner and all. No, scratch that... he’s fucking hot. He has a Black Flag tattoo on his bicep, too, which seems promising.

When Gerard points it out, Punk Guy flexes his arm proudly, looking pleasantly surprised. 

“I fucking love them, dude! Not a lot of people come in here and know about Black Flag.” 

Gerard quirks his head in confusion. 

“Mostly senior citizens and art teachers,” Punk Guy clarifies, jerking his chin towards an elderly man in the next aisle. 

“I’m sure they’re just checking out your arms,” Gerard says vacantly before he does a full body grimace. 

Punk Guy looks surprised for a moment before he barks out a laugh. 

“Gross.” 

He mercifully lets the subject drop, giving Gerard time to press his freezing hands against his flaming cheeks. Curse his pasty skin and anxiety. 

Punk Guy clears his throat and kicks at one of the cans. Gerard helps him (well, he tries to) by pulling it away with the handle. 

“I’ve got to tell you, I don’t usually do this much physical labor for a dude I just met.” Punk Guy glances up at him.

Gerard wriggles his foot experimentally, but it’s still trapped. 

“Really? I thought a tough guy like you would be out tarring roofs and mowing lawns for all the guys,” he says, abashed that he’s lying around like a damsel in distress. But instead of a brave knight slaying a dragon, he has Hot Punk Guy wrestling with paint cans. 

Punk Guy waves his hand in mock reassurance. 

“No, just for the pretty ones. Or the ones who pay me enough,” he says, giving Gerard a pointed look. 

“Damn, I hope you don’t expect me to pay you, then.” Gerard cocks an eyebrow. 

Punk Guy looks nonplussed for a moment before his face breaks into a smile. 

“Nah. For you, I’ll do it pro bono.” 

He flashes Gerard an easy grin while he’s looping his fingers through the handle of another bucket. And oh, Gerard thinks. He’s really very fucking hot. Then he kind of hiccups because Punk Guy just implied that he’s pretty for fuck’s sake, but Punk Guy just keeps digging him out of the cans. 

“Fuck, those look heavy,” Gerard says (completely unhelpfully) after a moment of silence, trying his best to nudge a tub away with his toe. He’s lost feeling in his feet, however, so it doesn’t do much good. 

Punk Guy grimaces, scraping one of the buckets against the tiles and freeing Gerard’s left leg. He squats by the right side and tugs on the handle of the largest tub, which is directly on top of Gerard’s other leg. 

“They really are. We don’t usually move them, since they’re just dispensers.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that. I guess I am a little bit senile,” Gerard mumbles, letting a tiny smile slip across his lips. 

“Eh, happens to the best of us.” 

Punk Guy bites back a laugh when Gerard squints at him doubtfully. 

“Well, maybe not the best of us, but it was an honest mistake,” he explains, wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead. “You were just really passionate about getting that paint, man.” 

“Yeah, paint is a bitch to pay for. Thought I’d just go for the whole gallon instead of the tubes.” Gerard muses, mind wandering back to his latest project. 

It’s a gigantic portrait series he’s been working on for a couple of weeks. He’s completely out of Burnt Umber and reaching critical levels of Titanium White. The rag that he’s using to wipe his brushes has run out of clean space. 

“Are you an artist or something?” Punk Guy tilts his head and points at a paint splatter on Gerard’s pants. “I hope so, or I just pointed at a random stain on your jeans.” 

“No worries, it’s probably paint.” 

He sees Punk Guy mouth ‘probably’ and squint suspiciously at his jeans. He snorts with laughter. 

“And yeah, I’m at NJU right down the road, actually.” He pushes some hair back from his face. “I’m doubling up my schedule with painting and photography.” 

Punk Guy doesn’t seem like a super artsy guy, just going by first impressions. But he seems genuinely interested, bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement. 

“Cool, man! You’ll have to show me some of your art sometime.”

Gerard nods absently, pushing back thoughts of how nice Punk Guy’s teeth are. 

“If that’s okay, of course,” Punk Guy adds hastily when Gerard doesn’t respond. 

“Sure! I mean, a lot of it is still in progress, and it’s not great.” 

Gerard flushes thinking about his half finished portraits and comic art. Punk Guy doesn’t seem to mind, waving his hand dismissively. 

“I’m sure your art is fantastic. You’re totally one of those, like, art geniuses who think that they suck.” 

Before Gerard can object, he feels the crushing weight of the tub being lifted from his foot. Punk Guy has managed to drag it off of his leg without him even realizing. 

Punk Guy lets out a triumphant cry and kicks the tub back onto the shelf. Gerard wiggles his toes to get some feeling back. 

“Aha, I knew I could get it!” 

Punk Guy pumps his fists in victory and holds a Rocky pose. 

“Yes! Thank you so much!” 

Gerard leaps to his feet and rubs his legs, wincing. 

“Damn, I’m gonna feel that tomorrow.” 

“Looks like you’re feeling it now,” Punk Guy points out bluntly. “And it’s no problem. All part of the job.”

Gerard’s not quite sure how true that is, but he lets it slide. 

He’s still wobbly, and nearly lands flat on his face when he tries to take his first step. Luckily, Punk Guy catches him before he can hit the floor, gripping his shoulder and swinging an arm around his back. 

“Woah, watch it.” His breath is right against the shell of Gerard’s ear. It makes him shudder. He’s still squeezing Gerard’s shoulder tightly, probably unaware of the way it’s making his tongue twist into knots. 

“Uh, thank you. Sorry about that.” 

Punk Guy releases his grip on his shoulder and Gerard steps back a little. 

“No problem.” 

Gerard dusts off his shirt and glances around the store for his cart.

“Now that I’m free, I’ll probably get my shopping done so I can get out of your hair.” 

He slaps his leg to get some feeling back into it. It’s staticky and painful from being still for so long. 

Punk Guy laughs again, rolling a cart out from the rack. “As long as you don’t spill any more buckets, I’d be delighted to shop with you.” 

Gerard feels relief that Punk Guy doesn’t seem to be that annoyed with him. He’s actually being really sweet, all things considered. 

“Cool! Let’s grab some paint, then.” 

“Not the tubs this time, right?” Punk Guy arches an eyebrow slyly. 

“Not the tubs this time,” Gerard echoes, biting back a grin. 

He’s already scoping out the tubes of oil paint stacked on the counter. He hasn’t painted with oil in a while. 

They chat about Gerard’s shopping list and grab a cart. Punk Guy helps him stack all of the paint tubes in a way that won’t crush them. 

Somehow the subject of horror movies comes up. Punk Guy hangs on to Gerard’s every word when he descends into an animated rant about Night of The Living Dead. He chimes in with little comments time and again, but mostly seems content to listen. 

They’re in the middle of a heated debate about the meaning behind Freddy Krueger’s name when Gerard withers at the realization that he doesn’t actually know Punk Guy’s name. He’s totally forgotten to ask in the midst of the chaos. 

“What’s your name, by the way?” Gerard nudges at his shoe lightly. “I’d like to be able to credit you in the tale of my daring rescue later. Or I can keep calling you Punk Guy if you’d like.” 

“That has a nice ring to it, actually. But my name is Frank, Frank Iero.”

He extends a tattooed hand for Gerard to shake. Gerard manages to catch a glimpse of the word HALLOWEEN across his knuckles before the hand is back in its pocket. 

“I’m Gerard Way.”

“Good to meet you. I’ve never met a Gerard before,” Frank muses, handing him a little jar of turpentine.

“Yeah, we’re a rare breed,” he says vacantly, eyes flicking over the label of the jar. 

Frank gives him a crooked little grin, cocking his head curiously. 

“You certainly are.” 

Gerard learns that Frank’s Italian, his favorite color is black, his favorite food is vegetarian lasagne, and his dog’s name is Sweet Pea. Which makes Gerard’s heart twist into knots because, seriously, this tiny punk owns a dog named Sweet Pea. 

They finally check out with a cart full of supplies, and Gerard actually feels a little disappointed that he has to go. There’s worse ways to spend a Saturday than chatting about horror movies and shopping for art supplies. 

After he rings up the paint, Frank leans over and tucks the receipt into Gerard’s hand. 

“It was super cool meeting you. You should come back soon,” he suggests, sticking his hands into his pockets casually. 

“I’ll bet you only want me here to buy more paint.” Gerard teases, digging through his coat for his keys to hide his burning face. 

Frank’s face falls a little before he sees that Gerard is bright red. His eyes sparkle with mischief when he leans forward. 

“Well, it doesn’t hurt that you’re cute. And that you know a ton about zombie movies.” 

Gerard feels his cheeks burn even hotter when he laughs (actually, it’s more of a squeak than a laugh). He thinks his brain might be short circuiting. 

“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.” 

He knows it’s an outrageously lame line to say, but Frank just smiles wider. Maybe he likes cheesy. 

“Damn, Mr. Smooth pops up suddenly.” He giggles, fiddling with the bags as he’s packing up the supplies. “Where was he when you were on top of the ladder?” 

Gerard struggles to keep a solemn face. 

“He’s a very rare sight, Frank. And I’m pretty sure Awkward Gerard was the only one up there.” 

Frank cracks up, leaning forward across the counter to touch Gerard’s arm. It makes his head spin a little. 

“I like Awkward Gerard. We wouldn’t have talked without him.” 

He definitely has a point. 

When Gerard finally gets to the parking lot, he watches Frank step outside, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket. He shoots Frank a little wave, which he returns, before he pulls out and heads back to his apartment. 

After he’s gotten home and unpacked all of his paint, he kicks off his shoes and collapses onto the couch. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much. He fumbles for the receipt in his pocket, smoothing the crinkled edges. He practically glows when he sees what’s scribbled at the bottom. 

‘Hope your legs aren’t too sore. And I meant it about seeing your art sometime.  
Frank’ 

There’s a phone number attached, which Gerard immediately plugs into his contacts. 

He smiles to himself as he sets back to work perfecting lips and cheekbones on his models. He adds tattoos to one of the figures, just for the hell of it. ‘HALLOWEEN’ stretches across their knuckles. He can’t wait to call Frank.


	2. Pictures of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Woah. Is that another portrait?” 
> 
> “Wait, Frank—” He calls out, but it’s too late. 
> 
> Gerard’s heart rate skyrockets when Frank plucks at the sheet and peeks underneath it. Gerard sees his back stiffen, and the air is suddenly tense between them. 
> 
> Frank looks for a very long time, back still to Gerard, finally pulling the sheet off completely and stepping back. He looks dazed, kind of swaying in place. His figure is looming over him on a four foot canvas, propped up on the desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry for the wait! Hope you enjoy, there’s some (very very mild) sexual content and making out here. 
> 
> XX

Gerard’s completely exhausted. He’s been painting for hours now, only stopping for bathroom breaks.

He’s been popping into Belville Art a lot more frequently lately. When he’s not bringing Frank coffee or pastries from the Starbucks down the block, he’s dragging tote bags full of comic books across the counter. As it turns out, Frank’s nearly as big of a Doom Patrol fanatic as he is. They shower praise upon Grant Morrison for what seems like hours of Frank’s shift. 

Frank’s walked him home a few times, prattling on about anything and everything he thinks of. He always listens intently to Gerard’s rants, like he’s saying something unbelievably fascinating. 

It also turns out that Frank is something of a musical genius. Well, at least in his eyes, since he’s pretty shitty at guitar. It certainly doesn’t help his juvenile crush when Frank shows him a video of one of his concerts, a show where he wore nothing but a pair of skin tight pants and thrashed around stage with limitless energy. His fingers flew effortlessly across the frets of his guitar, voice guttural and entrancing. Gerard wishes he could have been there. He makes Frank promise to tell him when the next show is. 

He’s so into Frank that it’s ridiculous. He hasn’t done anything about it, and he’s not sure if he wants to. Frank’s so much more interesting and unique than anyone he’s met before, and he’s not sure he wants to jeopardize that friendship. Then again, he’s kind of sure that he does. It’s all very confusing. He keeps his mind off of it by furiously drawing Frank as often as he can, barely stopping for air. His entire sketchbook is lined with doodles of tattooed knuckles and sloping lips. 

Mikey comes over every so often to check that he’s still alive. He catches him in a bad moment one day, and Gerard has a full meltdown about the situation. He’s been ducking his feelings for weeks. After he tells Mikey everything about Frank there is to know, Mikey just rolls his eyes as he tends to do. 

“Come on, Gee. He obviously likes you.” 

Gerard feels a little hurt that Mikey undercut his confession like that, but he’s a little relieved that Mikey’s not being completely cynical. 

Mikey’s legs are stretched out over his own on the sofa, Wolverine pajama bottoms stained with coffee. They’re curled up on the couch, Gerard fiddling with his sketchbook and Mikey manning the remote. He’s staring raptly at the screen as Bruce Willis crawls through an air duct with a bloodied brow, flicking his lighter. 

Gerard hides his face in his hands, watching spots dance behind his eyes. 

“He probably thinks I’m crazy. Some stalker art kid that he had to dig from a pile of cans.” He mumbles. 

Story of his life, really. He somehow always manages to attach himself to people that don’t really care for him as much as he does them. His ex, Bert, had gotten onto him more than once for being a bit of a creep. 

Mikey is staring at Gerard over his coffee cup like he’s grown two heads. 

“Gerard, you’re so stupid. He rescued you. From a pile of paint cans. Not a lot of people would do that. Plus, he called you cute.” He speaks slowly, like he’s not sure if Gerard understands English.

“I know! But I’m having second thoughts— what if he’s just being polite?” Gerard whines, doodling a little bomb in the corner of his page. He can hear the rain beginning to pour outside. 

Mikey sighs deeply and mutes Die Hard, flinging the remote onto Gerard’s lap and snuggling further into his blanket. 

“He’s not just being polite, Gee. I’d tell you if I thought he were.” 

Mikey bumps his knee against Gerard’s reassuringly. He knows Mikey’s being honest, because Mikey’s always honest. Sometimes to the point of brutality. But it still doesn’t help him feel much better. 

He lets the subject drop and sinks further back into the pillows. He decides to focus on a muscular Bruce Willis instead, jamming his thoughts up so Frank doesn’t appear. Mikey’s eyes jump between him and the flashing TV screen, and Gerard ignores the worry in his stare. 

—————

The next day, Gerard wakes up in a pool of sweat. He feels like absolute dogshit— his hair is plastered to his forehand, and his teeth won’t stop chattering. He decides to call Mikey, who’s not pleased at being woken up that early in the morning. 

After Mikey arrives and reassures him he’s not dying (and after Gerard finishes bitching with a thermometer in his mouth), just that he just has a nasty cold, Gerard decides to forgoe his art store visit for the day. 

He almost texts Frank, but he decides it’s not a big enough deal to call any attention to. Frank probably won’t even notice, actually, he thinks with a little twinge of self pity. 

Just then, his phone chimes. He picks it up and feels a warm rush of affection when Frank’s name appears at the top of the screen.

Frank: ‘Hey, are you ok? You haven’t dropped by in a while’

Gerard thinks for a minute before typing back, stretching across his comforter. He feels his sore joints ache in protest. Fuck, why did he have to get sick just when he and Frank were hitting it off? 

Gerard: ‘yeah, I’m fine. just recovering from being sick as shit.’

Frank: ‘Wow, nothing too bad i hope?’

Gerard: ‘No, just fever and chills, don’t worry.’ 

Frank: ‘...’ 

Frank: ‘That sounds bad. Are you at home?’ 

Gerard: ‘yeah why?’ 

Frank: ‘I’m coming with comics and candy, if you don’t want 2 answer I’ll drop it at the door’ 

Gerard feels a flash of panic when he opens the message. He has one of two options: 1. Let Frank come over to see his food stained clothes and dirty apartment so that he’ll eventually flee with disgust or 2. Ignore him and feel like a monster for the rest of the day because he didn’t get to hang out with him. 

He decides to try and diffuse the situation. 

Gerard: ‘frankie don’t worry I’m fine’ 

Gerard: ‘srsly don’t go to any trouble’ 

Frank: ‘No trouble, I’m happy to do it :)’

He types for a second before the bubble disappears. Then it reappears. 

Frank: ‘Not letting you hole yourself in your apartment without some skittles at least LOL’ 

Gerard grins to himself. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad- then at least he’d get to see Frank (even if he does look like he walked out of a morgue.) Plus, he can probably get his apartment in decent shape since Mikey helped him clean last weekend. 

Gerard: ‘thanks, dad’ 

He’s flushing even as he types it, half wishing he could erase it from Frank’s view when it’s delivered. Oh, well. 

Frank: ‘Kinky. And it’s no problem. It gives me an excuse to see you ;)’ 

Gerard goes into mild cardiac arrest at the last message. He’s always been shit at flirting, but Frank manages to slip it in when he least expects it (no double entendre intended). He’s never sure if he means it or not. He’s also not sure if he’ll be able to keep it together when they’re alone. 

Gerard frantically gathers his clothes and tosses them in the laundry room, whirling about his apartment in an attempt to make it less disgusting. He quickly throws a sheet over his gigantic Frank portrait, adjusting it so none of his face or torso is visible. That ought to do the trick.

A knock comes at the door a few minutes later, and Gerard practically flies to open it. As he suspected, it’s a windblown and soaking wet Frank standing on his front porch. He looks especially tiny in a gigantic army jacket and baggy jeans. 

He also looks like he’s just walked over, and his hands are full of plastic bags. Gerard catches a glimpse of candy and Wonder Woman comics.  
Frank’s absolutely beaming at Gerard when he flies at him to wrap him in a hug. Gerard’s learned that Frank is very touchy, which is fine by him. Sometimes it’s hugging, and other times it’s just light touches on the arm. It’s kind of driving him insane. 

“Hey, you totally answered!” He steps back and gives Gerard a once over, and Gerard tries to not to feel self conscious. “And you look totally sick!” 

Gerard laughs, voice strained from coughing. 

“I totally did, and I totally am.” 

He still feels a little weak, and he hasn’t really eaten all day. Frank looks at him with earnest worry, shifting the bags in his arms. 

“Your voice is rough, have you been coughing a lot?” 

He has, as a matter of fact. He’s stopped since Mikey last called, but his voice is still worn out.  
Gerard sighs and nods, bustling him through the doorway. 

He tries not to wonder what Frank’s thinking when he looks around the dark, cluttered room. Frank takes his jacket off and throws it onto the table. Gerard tries (and fails) not to stare at the ink running along his arms. His throat feels even more dry than it did before. 

“Yeah, it’s been shitty, but I think it’s passing. My brother had to go to work, so I’ve been watching The Addams Family.” 

He follows Frank into the kitchen, pulling out a chair at the island and watching him unload the bags. 

Frank nods sagely, dropping another bag on the kitchen counter. He delivered a family sized bag of skittles, as promised. His nails are painted bright pink, which makes Gerard’s heart stutter out a happy little dance. 

“A true classic. Morticia is fucking hot.” He’s wearing a wistful little smile 

That, she is. Gerard forgets his previous shyness and nods earnestly. 

“Damn straight. I’m more of a Gomez man, myself, though.” He admits, biting his cheek. 

Frank grins at him, and it makes his stomach flip.  
“Seriously?” 

“Yeah, he’s short and passionate!” 

Gerard waves his arms to indicate the severity of his conviction. Frank gives him a very odd look before turning back to the bags. 

“Well, I like ‘em tall, pale, and mysterious.” He shoots Gerard a wink, dumping the rest of the supplies on his counter. 

Gerard coughs, face burning brilliantly, and tries not to read into that. Frank suddenly holds up a pack of Red Lights and smiles knowingly.

“By the way, I brought you some cigarettes. I know you’re sick, but I thought they might help.” 

If he wasn’t a total sucker for Frank already, this would seal the deal. He springs from the chair and snatches them from Frank’s hand in delight. 

“Oh yes, Mikey wouldn’t let me smoke!” 

He kisses the pack of cigarettes like a man possessed. Then he spies the comics. 

“And you got me Wonder Woman!” Gerard crows, snatching the comics and holding them to his chest. “Frankie, you sure know how to treat a guy.”

Frank grins wickedly and pats his arm. 

“I should hope so. And you owe me one, Way.” 

“Do I, now?” 

Gerard tilts his head playfully, propping his arms on the counter. He’s sort of surprised at how forward he’s being. He tugs out a cigarette and lights it up, knowing that Frank won’t mind. 

“Yeah. I say the best way for you to repay your debt is to show me your art, maybe?” 

Frank sounds a little hesitant, like he doesn’t want to push his limits. Oh, shit, Gerard did sort of promise to show him. 

Frank snatches another one of his cigarettes and grins, disarmingly cute. Gerard feels a little blip of fear in his chest as he hands him the lighter.

“I mean... are you sure? It’s not great, and I mostly do comics...” He chokes out, and Frank looks amused. 

“I’m sure that it’s incredible.” Frank flashes his teeth as smoke drifts from his nostrils. “I love comics, Gee.” 

Gerard feels his resolve crumble. He sighs deeply, standing up from his chair. 

“Well, if you insist.” 

Frank raises his eyebrows and grins impishly. 

“Oh, but I do.” 

Gerard can’t really say no to him, which is how Frank ends up following him to his bedroom. God, he never thought he’d think that sentence. 

“Alright, fine. If you really want to see my shitty art, then my shitty art you shall see.” 

“Fuck yeah!” Frank pumps his fist, face splitting into a smile. 

Gerard steers him to the back of the room, very apprehensive about the way Frank is taking in every detail. 

He’s fully aware that his room is every twelve year old boy’s dream. Action figures, comics, and vinyls line the walls and desk. Luckily, Frank seems to be just as excited. 

“Cool room,” Frank chirps, staring awestricken at his shelf of Star Wars collectibles. Gerard flushes a little bit. 

“Thanks, I’m sorry it’s so messy.” He says, tucking a pair of dirty socks behind his couch before Frank can notice. 

Frank turns to him and sweeps his arm about the room. 

“Hey, you call this messy? You ain’t seen nothing yet, just wait until you see my apartment.” He cackles, finishing off his cigarette and stubbing it into Gerard’s ashtray. “My old roommate threatened to call Hoarders on me.” 

Gerard tries to laugh nonchalantly, but he’s really freaking out because Frank kind of implied that he’s going to invite him over. He tries not to let his mind wander, instead watching as Frank finds his folder of sketches and exclaims delightedly as he looks over each one. 

Gerard’s trying to fight the heat creeping up to his cheeks. Luckily he doesn’t head for the sketchbook: there’s far too many drawings of him in there for Gerard to make excuses. 

“Dude, these are...” Frank says finally, apparently finished rifling through his portfolio. “Fucking amazing. I had no idea you could do this, this is insane.” 

He holds up one drawing Gerard did of Morrissey. It’s one of his proudest drawings, and Frank seems pretty taken with it. 

“I... thank you. You can have it, if you’d like.” Gerard sets his cigarette in the ashtray and fiddles nervously with the strings of his hoodie. 

“Wait, seriously?” Frank looks like Christmas has come early. 

“Of course! I mean, I don’t need it, and I know you like The Smiths.” 

Gerard waves his marker stained hand in a ‘take it’ motion. 

“Wow, thanks. This is so awesome.” Frank stares at the drawing, awestruck, before he spies the gigantic sheet- covered canvas next to him. 

“Woah. Is that another portrait?” 

“Wait, Frank—” He calls out, but it’s too late. 

Gerard’s heart rate skyrockets when Frank plucks at the sheet and peeks underneath it. Gerard sees his back stiffen, and the air is suddenly tense between them. 

Frank looks for a very long time, back still to Gerard, finally pulling the sheet off completely and stepping back. He looks dazed, kind of swaying in place. His figure is looming over him on a four foot canvas, propped up on the desk. 

All of the blood has drained from Gerard’s face. He’s stuck to his spot on the couch, watching with encroaching nausea as Frank licks his lips. He still hasn’t said anything, and Gerard can’t gauge his expression. 

“Did you—” Frank gulps, and Gerard strains you hear him. “Did you paint me?” 

Gerard doesn’t trust his own mouth, but he speaks anyways. Well, he rambles, running a hand through his hair anxiously. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I know it’s insanely creepy, but I just kind of—” 

Frank cuts him off, lifting his finger and examining the painting. He’s eerily silent, hand stretched to touch the dry paint. 

The painting is of Frank, bright and sparkling, crouching over a patch of dead flowers, his hand corroding to muscle and bones when he reaches out to grab one. 

Gerard worked every detail thoroughly. He’d normally be pretty proud of it, if it weren’t the unwitting model judging. 

“Gerard,” Frank says firmly, jaw clenched. 

Gerard braces himself for the worst. Frank is freaked out by Gerard being a stalker, he’s going to storm out of the house. The proportions are off, or the lighting is wrong, or he just plain wants to burn it. 

But it never comes. Frank just stares breathlessly back at the painting and turns to him, looking like he might freak out. Gerard fully panics then, backing into the couch a little bit. 

“Gerard. Holy shit.” 

With that, he launches himself at Gerard and clings tightly to his shoulders. Gerard absorbs the impact, mouth flying open in shock as he falls to the couch with a little ‘oomph’. He can feel Frank’s fingers curling into the back of his sweatshirt when he tilts his face up, bright eyes on Gerard’s. 

“That is... the most fucking cool thing I’ve ever seen, Gee.” 

Frank’s face is all soft curves and sloping angles, and Gerard wants to kiss him everywhere he can reach. 

“Gee, you’re so talented! I had no idea.” 

Frank laughs a little breathlessly, tracing his fingers over the air in front of the drawing. 

“Damn, you even got the tattoos right,” he murmurs. 

“You... you really like it?” Gerard chokes out, voice cracking.

“Gee, I love it!” Frank cries. 

Frank breaks away from the hug and gestures wildly at the painting. 

“It’s me as a skeleton man! Do you have any idea how cool that is?” 

When Gerard stays silent, staring at him dumbly, Frank looks back at him and puts his hands on his shoulders. It makes Gerard’s skin tingle under two layers of clothing. He feels like a teenager again. 

“I love this so much, and I really need to ask you something.” 

Frank’s biting his lips, eyes dark and focused. There’s something behind his expression that Gerard can’t really fathom. 

“Okay?” Gerard squeaks out, not really sure where to put his hands when he’s this close to Frank. He settles for folding them across Frank’s back. 

“Is this... how you see me? Like, do I look like that to you?” 

Frank gestures vaguely at the painting and looks back down at himself. Gerard’s not really sure what to say (big surprise) so his motormouth activates, as it so often does when he’s stressed. 

“Yeah, uh, you know. You’re this, um, really energetic person, like... you have this glow around you, and you make anything, like, super interesting. It... it makes everything else brighter and, like, fucking better, and it’s really incredible, so, um...” 

The words die on his lips, noticing how Frank’s eyes are bugging out of his head. 

“So, um, yeah. I’ll, uh... I’ll stop talking now,” he finishes lamely, wishing he could crawl into a hole and vanish. His voice is an octave higher than it usually is. 

Frank doesn’t really say anything, he just stares at Gerard with naked incredulity on his face. Gerard picks at his hangnail anxiously, blood roaring in his ears as he tries not to move. 

The next thing he knows, a warm body is flying into his arms and he’s pressed between the back cushions and Frank’s lips. Gerard makes a noise of surprise before he melts into the kiss, pulling Frank down and flush against his chest. Frank reciprocates eagerly by leaning into the kiss and twining his hands behind Gerard’s neck, sitting on his lap. 

He tastes like the cigarette he just smoked, which makes Gerard feel a little lightheaded. They’re both smiling, which is making things a bit difficult, but neither is complaining. Gerard shudders against the cold metal of Frank’s lip piercing. 

They break apart, a little bit winded. Frank still has his arms around Gerard’s neck, coiling a piece of hair between his fingers.

“You’re going to get sick.” Gerard whispers hoarsely. 

Frank laughs softly and shakes his head, pupils almost totally dilated. 

“I don’t fucking care. God, I’ve wanted to do that since the day we met.” He admits, looking a little embarrassed. 

“Really? Even with the paint cans?” Gerard laughs, feeling giddy. 

“Especially with the paint cans.” 

Frank’s eyes crinkle at the corners and it sends the butterflies in Gerard’s stomach into a flurry. 

“Beautiful and talented. How are you real?” Gerard murmurs, stroking across his jaw. Frank leans into his touch. 

“I could be asking you the very same question.” 

Frank giggles softly, bumping their noses together.  
Gerard reattaches their mouths, nibbling on Frank’s bottom lip and scraping across his piercing. Frank growls low in his throat (which, Jesus Christ, might be the hottest thing he’s ever heard), pinning him further against the wall. Gerard moans softly when Frank grinds down on his lap almost imperceptibly, He grabs Frank’s neck and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss. 

Without warning, there’s a loud thump behind them. 

“Oh, gross.” 

They pull apart abruptly to see Mikey in the doorway, clutching his hands to his face and stumbling back against the door. Gerard groans with disappointment and unsuccessfully tries to detach himself from Frank, who looks borderline homicidal at Mikey’s presence. He’s still gripping Gerard’s collar, and doesn’t seem to want to move. 

“Mikey! Goddamnit, knock first.” 

Gerard sighs deeply, hiding his face in Frank’s shirt. Frank crawls off of his lap so he can stand up properly, but still keeps a firm grip on his hand. 

“I did, you didn’t answer!” Mikey points an accusing finger. 

“Well, it’s not my fault you broke into my apartment!” Gerard cries shrilly. 

“Well, I came to keep you company, but I see that that’s been taken care of.” 

Mikey’s not moving his gaze from Frank. He somehow looks nauseous and smug at the same time. Gerard scowls at him, genuinely considering kicking him out so he can kiss Frank more. 

After a beat, Frank extends his hand to Mikey, who shakes it tactfully. 

“Uh, hello. I’m Frank.” 

Mikey rolls his eyes and gives Frank a once over.

“I’m Mikey. And I know, Gerard won’t shut the fuck up about ‘Frank, the cute art shop guy’.” He does air quotes and a bad impression of Gerard, which earns him a slap to the arm. 

“Mikey!” Gerard hisses (bright red, of course), kicking him in the shin as covertly as he can. 

Mikey recovers quickly, smacking Gerard’s own arm and trying not to smile. 

“What? You were literally making out with him, he deserves to know!” 

“God, you’re so gross.” Gerard huffs again, feeling Frank squeeze his hand tighter. 

Mikey gives him a very clear ‘you can’t call me gross when your tongue was just down somebody’s throat’ look. Gerard ignores it. 

When he turns back, Frank’s wearing a goofy smile, eyes soft and adoring. He shifts unsteadily on his feet.

“I, uh... I guess I’ll be going, I’ve got to get back to work.” He avoids Mikey’s eyes, looking abashed. “It was good to meet you. Sorry about that.”

Mikey snorts, looking a lot more relaxed now that he’s spoken. 

“Likewise.” 

Frank can’t tell if he’s talking about the greeting or the kissing, so he lets it go. He and Gerard stand there for a moment, neither one wanting to leave, before Mikey clears his throat and snaps them out of their reverie. 

Frank turns and presses one last kiss to Gerard’s lips, beaming. 

“Call me later?” 

Gerard grins, feeling a little dizzy. “Of course, Frankie.” 

—————

Gerard spends the rest of the night curled up with Mikey on the couch, watching Star Wars and trying not to scare Mikey too badly with details. Mikey’s still avoiding the subject of the actual kiss, but he does let Gerard go on and on about how cute Frank is. He really is a good brother. 

About halfway through one of his tangents, Gerard’s phone dings from the coffee table. It’s a text from Frank, who he knows just got off his shift. 

Frank: ‘Hey, can I call you?’ 

Gerard’s palms sweat as he presses the call button. Mikey throws popcorn at him as he walks to the door, making gagging noises, and Gerard replies by flipping him off. 

Gerard stumbles outside into the cold, sitting on his favorite chair on the balcony and watching the cars rush on the streets below. He loves the city at night. 

Moments later, Frank picks up.

“Hey, Frankie,” Gerard breathes out nervously. 

“Hey, Gee.” Gerard can hear Frank’s smile from over the speaker. “How much are you selling that painting for?” 

Relief sweeps through him. He pretends to think for a moment. 

“Hm... how about a date?” 

Frank giggles over the phone, somehow still clear over the roar of traffic below him. 

“Sounds perfect.”


End file.
